


A Willing Audience

by AutoTragedyCollection



Series: A Storyteller At Heart [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bedtime Stories, Campfires, Geralt is nicer here, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Light Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read, Other, Pre-Relationship, honestly I think I skillfully avoided talking about it, i hate camping and I know nothing about traveling on foot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:29:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24658384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutoTragedyCollection/pseuds/AutoTragedyCollection
Summary: The year is 1240. Jaskier and Geralt travel together after the events in Posada, and after being told to be quiet Jaskier gets a little sad. But despite being gruff, Geralt really does try to cheer him up.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: A Storyteller At Heart [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1784794
Comments: 11
Kudos: 142





	A Willing Audience

“-what you usually do? Just lay under the stars? You don't build a fire or anything?” Jaskier peered through the darkness across their scant camp sight, to where Geralt stood, combing his fingers through Roach's mane.

He only grunted in reply.

Jaskier rolled his eyes, _typical,_ and huffed a breath, resigning himself to endure the silence.

They'd been traveling together since the elves incident, and Jaskier was beginning to notice a pattern, even after only a few days. Walk all day, well _ride_ , in Geralt's case. Just keep going. Occasionally he would step off the road to look for herbs, which Jaskier assumed were for his potions. He'd pat Roach, something Jaskier had not yet worked up the courage to do. And then, just when the sun was getting impossibly low and when Jaskier's feet were dragging and legs aching, was barely able to see the rocks and pits in the road, then would Geralt finally state they were stopping for the night. At which point he would grumble, throw Jaskier something that he assumed used to be meat but now tasted of dirt and horse, unsaddle Roach and lay on his bed roll.

The witcher could go the whole day and say nothing, except occasionally mutters to Roach which Jaskier didn't have the hearing to catch.

“You know I haven't traveled like this since I first left Oxenfurt,” Jaskier began after a deep breath. He wriggled into his bedroll, ignoring the first cool breezes that signified the beginning of deep night. “I'm too soft, you know, that's probably it, all that bread in Posada, truly- the crowd spoiled me.” He folded his arms up underneath his head and looked up at the splash of stars that was above them. He heard the telltale rustle of fabric that was Geralt laying down.

He made a mental note to purchase more provisions when next they were in town, something to make a snare perhaps so he'd be less reliant on dried foods, and also so he wouldn't inconvenience the witcher. He did know enough about how to prepare meat, even if he generally avoided it.

“Do you like towns? I suppose I'd wager not very much, but I really think Toss a Coin could help, more songs like it too, I mean. Well maybe not help you like towns, but maybe ease the malaise a tad. Speaking of towns-”

“Go to sleep.” Geralt's rumble cut him off.

“I- Well alright. G'night Geralt.” Jaskier turned over onto his side, and stared in the pitch forest ahead of him. He couldn't be expected to carry the entirety of the the conversation and have it all be decent.

Perhaps that was the thing of it. He wasn't the best conversationalist. Well... He could ramble on and on for hours without saying anything of substance. There was something a little impressive about that, however vapid it was in reality.

It reminded him of the court jester he'd met once at a some feast or another when he was a child at Lettenhove. He'd watched that man, in his strange hat and bold colors, speak in giant tangled knots. He'd danced around spewing suave rhetoric and batting his eyelashes and Jaskier had been entranced with the rest of the room. But thinking back on it, he hardly remember even a lick of what he'd said.

Jaskier wondered if it was the same when he spoke. Certainly his parents had thought so, it was why they hadn't objected to him running off and perusing his flights of fancy. It was all fine and dandy he supposed, if that was the case, he was where he wanted to be, doing what and whom and wanted to do, singing and playing what he wanted to sing and play. What they, or anyone else though shouldn't particularly matter.

Except that it did matter enough that in his mind he was pacing. Pacing and imagining a rebuilt personality. A version of himself more glib and more gregarious, someone who was able to enthrall audience and not just perform, but truly be _seen._ He'd yet to achieve that last part. He didn't think many people got past his... was excessive of good word..? persona. Perhaps no one would and he would live out his days unknown.

 _Oh well that's rather maudlin._ He though to himself and rolled his eyes behind his lips with a barely contained frustrated huff.

He was about to resume that line of thinking when-

“I can smell your melancholy, bard.”

Jaskier sat up quickly. “Oh?” He squinted, willing his eyes to adjust enough that he'd be able to see. It was fruitless.

He heard Geralt take a deep breath, and decided with a sigh to go back to trying (and failing) to sleep.

“Would you...” Geralt took a long pause, and truly it sounded as though it pained him to speak. “Would you like me to tell you a story?” He finished in a small voice.

“What?” He blinked dumbly, a smile creeping onto his face. “I mean yes, please, I don't suppose I have light to take any notes by but- I- Yes.” I snuggled back down into his roll and waited for Geralt to begin. When he did, it sounded like he was telling the story to a child.

“Once-”

“Upon a time?” Jaskier interrupted with a grin.

“Jaskier.” Geralt grunted, the bristle clear in his tone.

“Yes, yes, I'll be quiet.” He soothed.

The story ended up being rather sad as turned out. It was about a contract for a wraith: a young girl who'd been murdered and simply hadn't been able to move on. But the way Geralt spoke, soft and just a little bit warm, had Jaskier losing sight of the grim details and drifting slowly into sleep.

As he slipped away he had one last, quiet thought. Perhaps, in Geralt, he'd finally found the right audience for his nonsense.

**Author's Note:**

> I really am very soft for these two and may or may not be projecting a little on to young and inexperienced Jaskier.  
> This is my first fic for this fandom and the first ever real one shot I've posted, so if you have any thoughts I would love to here them in the comments.  
> Happy trails!  
> you can find my trumblr [here](https://autotragedywrites.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> edit: This is the first part in what is going to be a series.


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